How You Love Me
by Hot Fuss
Summary: Two musicians. One suppressed by her mother, the other in desperate need of a muse. Lizzie Bennet, young and famous and controlled by her mother, meeting Will Darcy may just be what she needs to break free of her mothers hold. Pride, prejudice and a little bit of misunderstanding occur as these two try to navigate the waters of fame and discovering who they are.


**Chapter One:** So Good To Be Bad

_Without music, life would be a mistake._

**_- Friedrich Nietzsche_**

The lights, the crowd, the stage. This was my home, I couldn't imagine what life would be like without it and I didn't want to. There was a comfort that came only from being onstage, performing, sharing myself with the world.

I was on the last leg of my national tour, a commitment that stole me away from home for nearly six months, not that I'd really had a home since I was eighteen. Every concert seemed to pass in the same blur, a simple mix of dance, pop and the clichéd "hello… whatever city I'm in".

This time I was in St. Louis, the crowd lacklustre at best, maybe they picked up on the vibe that I would rather be elsewhere then there singing these generic songs that where written with little input from me. Maybe it was time for a change.

It was a split second decision on my part, I really didn't want to have to sing my obnoxious closing song, which I chose to piss off my manager, production crew and possibly face the wrath of my audience. I ran up to the DJ booth that was set up at the back of the stage and pushed Michael, the DJ, away from the mixer. I'd never been so thankful that it was my laptop that was plugged in, a fact that had always frustrated me in the past.

The instrumental for the song I was supposed to perform was playing while I loaded up my new track, something nobody had ever heard before, the first song I had written and produced on my own. "I know you guys were expecting to hear _Girls_, but I would like to perform a new track, and you will be the first to hear it." I moved out from behind the set as the intro pumped through the speakers, "This track is called _Bad_, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed making it."

I took a deep breath, hoping, praying it would turn out good before bringing the microphone back up to my lips; "I say why does it feel so good? So good to be bad. Getting what I want, boy. Why does that make you so mad?" I sang, the audience erupting into cheers and moving to the beat.

It was the best reception I had ever received from a song and to know that the song was one hundred percent mine made it even better. It was in the moment, I decided to change from this inexperienced pop princess, a puppet really, and completely change my sound, being true to myself. I would refuse to sing those terrible songs about being young, being in love and being heartbroken. It was mediocre dribble at best, I was so much better than that.

The last notes of _Bad_ petered out and for the first time tonight the smile that I projected to the audience was a genuine one. "Thank you St. Louis you've been an amazing audience. I'll be back soon."

I waved and bowed to my audience, cheers radiating around me and I ran off stage to be met by the hard glare of my manager who may also have been my mother, but I like to forget that part. I was on such a high, I thought nothing could bring me down.

"Can you believe the reception my song got? That was crazy." I gushed to her, I thought she would understand, be proud. Oh how wrong I was.

"Lizzie, what the hell were you thinking?" Her voice was low, dangerous, and it tore straight through me.

"I wanted to try something different." I looked at the floor too intimidated to look her in the eyes. I was twenty one years old and scared of my mother, how sad.

"Different? Different?" She screeched, her voice hitting a register I thought impossible for human to achieve.

"I wanted to perform something that was my own, not something that was created for me. Something without a generic beat, something that you don't hear every day, something original." I didn't know why I had to justify myself to her, it was my career she was playing with after all.

"Something original," she scoffed, "You would be nothing without me, and your _originality_ will get you nowhere."

"I don't want to sing that pop drivel any longer." I pleaded and rose my eyes to look at her in the face.

Fire blazed behind her blue eyes, a ferocious gaze that had terrified me since I was a child. "That 'pop drivel' as you so affectionately call it" she spat, "sells records."

"I want to be progressive, move to something harder."

"Harder doesn't make money, you are raking in the cash right now." There it was the money argument. If there was money to be made, my mother would jump straight on it, she was like the Kris Jenner of the Bennet clan.

"How long until people tire of the same crap over and over again? I don't care about money, I care about my music."

"We'll keep adapting your sound to go with the times." She always had an answer and it always used to placate me. "No problems only solutions."

"By that you mean there are no problems big enough that large amounts of cash won't fix." Money had a strange way of being able to get my family out of trouble and into a position in the spotlight. "Money won't change my opinion."

It had launched my younger sister Lydia in a modelling career and dear sweet Jane was a budding actress. If anyone in my family was to run into any problems a large amount of cash would change hands and everything would be okay. Lydia has been denied modelling work so much that I think my family has paid the agencies more money than she is earning.

"Lizzie I really have no idea what you are talking about," one might almost believe her false tone of sincerity, almost being the operative word. I'm not sure if my mother has a sincere bone in her body.

"Really? I find that hard to believe."

"Why are you attacking me for your mistake? What do you hope to achieve? I've done nothing wrong here. I only have your best interests at heart." I felt guilty and I really didn't know why. My mother had this ability to fill me with doubt and I always seemed to cave to her. It sickened me a little bit, especially because I knew I was close to caving and she knew it too.

"I'm sorry, I just want to make my own music." I said softly. I'd given in, was it even worth a fight?

"Well discuss it later." That meant never. The only way I'd be able to do my own thing was if I were to fire her, it was the family ties that stopped me from doing so. I wouldn't be able to see my sisters or my father again if I did, and it was that prospect that quelled me into silence.

I rushed to my changing room and got dressed as fast as I could. As much as I liked the little black and gold number I was wearing it was no match for the comfort of an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I pulled my long red hair back into a ponytail and found my mother waiting for me outside the door with my laptop in her hand and a huge black handbag in the other.

Crestfallen I let her drag me out to the waiting car to take us back to our hotel. It was as she was dragging me that I truly looked at her. Dyed blonde hair pinned back so severely it seemed to take care of the wrinkles the Botox had missed, an all-black ensemble that gave her an air of importance and superiority and nails that had taken on the appearance of talons painted bright red. I think I was justified in being a little bit scared of her, well more than a little bit, but I would never freely admit that.

The ride back to the hotel was filled with silence, it threatened to consume us but I could not bring myself to speak as there was nothing to say. My relationship with my mother was strictly business, I don't think she has ever hugged me or been affectionate in any way towards me that was reserved for Lydia and Jane. Kitty, Mary and I were all left in the cold, shut out from the comfort of a mothers touch.

The forty minute ride was torturous, I needed a stiff drink, a comfortable bed and a way to shut out the world. Arguments with Sophie Bennet were increasing and I always dealt with the same way. A bottle of cheap vodka and _The Killers_ on repeat.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the car pulled up to the gaudy overpriced place we were staying, I didn't even bother to take notice of its name, I wouldn't be there long enough for it to matter.

"Lizzie you head straight to bed, you hear me?" I nodded at my mother, but part of me wanted to rebel, not to listen for once and be the good little girl she wanted me to be. So I did what any self-respecting adult would do and snuck out when her back was turned.

I knew it would come to bite me on the ass but at this point I didn't care. A little ways down the road was Bridie O'Riley's an Irish pub, a great place to go incognito, have a drink and relax. The feeling of pretention the hotel had was stifling, everybody was over the top and fake, nobody was real.

As I walked through the welcoming doors the sounds of _Mr Brightside _met me, it felt right, like this was the place for me to be. I used to think it was the height of sadness to drink on your own, but there's a comfort in it, you're the master of your fate and since nobody you know is around you can act like a complete and utter idiot without too much judgement. Who cares what a bunch of strangers think anyways?

There was nothing special about the pub, it looked pretty much like every other Irish bar in America. Low lighting, a live band, the drinks flowing and the loud chatter of full tables. It was small but comfortable, just the way I like it. I took a seat at the bar and waited to be served, I was in no rush.

A young dark haired bartender moved to serve me. "What can I get you?"

"Vodka Red Bull please." He quickly set about making the drink, creating the perfect mix.

"Eight dollars," he said as I handed him a twenty "You look familiar," he looked at me with the intention of discerning who I was. I was used to it by now.

"I have one of those faces."

"Hmm… That's what they all say." He placed the drink in front of me, gave me my change and went about serving another customer.

Crisis averted, the last thing I wanted was people finding out I was here, I wanted to be left in peace and didn't want to have to deal with hoards of paparazzi on my way out. Fame was both a friend and an enemy.

The bartender turned back to face me recognition written all over his face. "I know who you are." Oh shit. "You're Bandit." I've been caught. Great.

"Yeah I am…" There goes my anonymity, what good is a stage name is people recognise you anyways.

"This awesome. I don't think anyone famous has ever been in this place." Gosh tell the whole world why don't you? "Bandit. In my bar. Nobody will believe me. Can I get a picture?"

"Sure." There was nothing I hated more than taking selfies. They seemed so pointless, but if taking one with a fan will make them happy so be it. It would have been naïve to think that it would stop there. Soon I was swamped by what seemed like everybody in the pub all asking questions, wanting autographs and photos.

Some had been at my show that night and were telling me how much they loved how I closed the show and wanted to hear more of that stuff. It was both frustrating and uplifting.

I dreaded leaving the pub mainly because I knew the pap's would be out there waiting for me. But I had to leave, the already small pub felt even smaller when being crowded by so many people. Well I guess it's like ripping off a band aid. I just needed to walk out those doors and walk the five hundred metres back to my hotel.

As soon as I ripped off that band aid and faced the real world I was met with flashing lights and questions, it was worse than the pub. Shouts of; "Bandit how is your relationship with Tom?" I honestly had no idea who Tom was, and it was interesting to learn I was in a relationship with him "Bandit how was the show…" Blah blah blah, leave me alone.

I didn't want a bar of it. I chose to ignore them but that always seems to make it worse. I don't know how they get away with it. The shout, the lights, the click of the camera were messing with my mind. This experience however was a source of inspiration and as soon as I got back to the hotel I couldn't get to room fast enough.

I searched for the hotel stationary, thank god this place was a touch out of date and still had letter writing materials. I dug a pen out of my bag and as soon as I touched the time to the paper the words just flowed out.

_These noises messing with my mind, distorts my sense of space and time. _I began and let it flow from there. I already had the beat and melody forming in my head. My mother still had my laptop, good thing it had a password so I couldn't do anything more. Maybe if I proved my skills, I could pen my new album. I doubted it though.

* * *

**A/N:** First off I'm an Aussie so don't shoot me for any Aussie spelling or grammar.

**Bridie O'Riley's** is a Pub in Melbourne me and my friends go to sometimes so I thought I would incorporate it into the story.

The songs featured in this chapter are:

1. Bad (Feat. Vassey) - David Guetta & Showtek

2. Mr Brightside - The Killers

3. Noises (Feat. Sarah Bodle) - Uberjak'd

**I will update twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays Australian time.**


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